Shattered
by Kintaraheart
Summary: Pieces of thought, broken tales, and life through the eyes of many soldiers of Azeroth. Just bits and pieces of the lives and pasts of a few characters of mine. Rated T for violence, language, blah blah blah. You get the point. Not a certain genres, it varies from chapter to chapter.
1. Into Another World

Much had happened since Eldalune had left the northern forests behind and headed for Outland to join the fight against the Legion. The nature around her was her only remaining tie to Azeroth now. Nardiir had perished and Sinaiya was still lost within the Emerald dream. Briefly she thought of her sweet husband and how much she missed him. He had always been quite kind and she regretted ever having left the safety of the forests in Kalimdor and going to the Eastern Kingdoms. Perhaps he would not have died if only they had stayed. As for her sister, Sinaiya had been lost in the Emerald dream for nearly five hundred years, unaging, unchanging, still just a child even as the time passed around her in the mortal world. But the enchantments on her body that kept her alive would not last forever, and she highly doubted the poor little girl's return.

She willed the rain to fall on her skin, anything to ease the heat of the Swamp around her. If it had to be a misty, steamy swamp, couldn't it at least rain? The very essence of nature was hurting in this place for dark reasons she did not know. She suspected it had something to do with the magic of the trolls that once dwelled here. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the horrifying sights she'd once seen in Stranglethorn when she and Nardiir had stumbled upon a group of zombified trolls raised into undeath by the means of Gurubashi necromancers.

The blasted lands were ahead of her and the water of the swamp was easier for her Frostsaber, Everdream, to navigate. The poor cat was having a terrible time with the watery landscape and unbearable heat. Unfortunately, as she could now see on the other end of the pass, the Blasted Lands weren't much better. Ravaged by the legion, it was hellishly hot and a flaring wind blew sand upon her furiously. It stung her wet skin and coated it with an orange dust.

The dark portal wasn't far, she knew that much from the map she'd taken from Stormwind, and she hoped that she would get there soon. She wiped the heat from her neck and jumped when a flash of electricity erupted across the sky. Finally she could see the top of the Dark Portal peaking up over a ridge. The road lead right into the crater and she slowed her mount to a stop to gape at the massive portal before her. "By Elune..." She shuddered as she imagined hordes of demons storming through into Azeroth and was brutally reminded of what had befallen her people ten thousand years ago with the Well of Eternity. Sure, she was only an adolescent then, but she remembered it all very well.

Eldalune took a deep breath and built up the courage to go forward. Other Alliance, as well as Horde, were here in the camps at the base of the portal. She urged her mount forward, trying to be cautious with all of the people cluttering the path. She finally came to the portal's steps. Others were beside her, readying themselves for the battle on the other side as well, giving her a little comfort knowing she wouldn't be alone. She faced the swirling mass of energy and felt herself being nearly sucked towards it. She flung herself and Everdream into it.

She was greeted by the false heat and strange, open emptiness of Hellfire peninsula. As well as a war raging right before her. A swelling mass of soldiers and demons were fighting right on the portal's steps. The base to the portal was much larger on this side and the camps had their own wings instead of being mixed together on the ground below like in the Blasted Lands.

Someone grabbed her shoulder. "You there!" A deep voice yelled over the noise. Eldalune looked down at a human man who was tugging on her. "We are in need of your assistance!" She nodded, dismounting, and walked with the man as she lead Everdream to a stable area, patting the Frostsaber's furry head. "Be good." She whispered to her. She paid the stable master for her mount's food and shelter. "I'll be back for her." She said.

"We need you in Honor hold." The man said. "Talk to the flightmaster." He pointed to a dwarf. She hurried to him as she tried to keep her cool in the chaos around her. After a brief talk, she was handed the reins of a griffon and with a running start she was in the air, clutching the reins and the saddle as she steadied herself.

The world around her was red and, bright and dark at the same time, with no wind and heat radiating off of almost everything. It was ever the odd place and nothing any book or person had told her could have ever prepared her for the world she'd come to. Outland was every bit the shattered world she'd expected and more. She wondered if this was such a good idea, but it was too late to turn back now.


	2. Love is in the Air

The lady sat happily on the crimson sofa, her gold-white hair falling about her like a halo on her fragile head. She wore the colors of her family today, deciding to reminisce in the memories of her old life. Green, white, and gold decorated the many layers of clothing she wore. It clashed with the crimson of the couch and the red, black, and gold that colored her apartment. Everything was lavish, from the tapestries to the rugs to the people who dwelled there. And everything was set to seem as though it were even more expensive than it already was. The light was dimmed so it lit the room in a red hugh as it shone through the sheers and a servant sat in the top of the tower apartment playing the harp and singing softly. The music echoed off the rounded walls and shimmered through the apartment to where the lady lay.

Only the soft sound of someone descending the stairs broke through the trance the music made. The lady closed her eyes and smiled as the familiar figure of her beloved sat down beside her. "Darling," He purred to her. "You look lovely. However, you only ever wear this when you are bothered." He stroked a stray piece of hair away from her lovely face and leaned against the sofa back to look upon her. The serene look he always bore was colored by a very shy hint of concern. "What troubles you?"

She sighed and reached for the wine glass on the side table. "Just the memories," She told him before sipping the contents of the glass. "Ones of family, of a time before I even met you, and before half Quel'Thalas was twisted into a horror tale. Good times, successful, wonderful times when my father was working with the magistrates and my brother was just a little boy untouched by greed and power." She took another long sip, relishing the flavor of the wine.

"And when your sister was alive?" He asked softly. She gave a single, solemn nod and leaned into the man she so dear to her heart. Oh if she were ever to lose him… "I too am remembering," He said then. "Of the moment I first laid eyes on you, my dear. Oh, the very second I saw you pluck that rose from my bush..." He raised a slender eyebrow at her teasingly. "I thought to myself 'My, what is such a beautiful being doing on my estate… Stealing my roses?' You certainly caught me unawares, I hadn't the slightest idea what to do with you, the thief in my yard picking my flowers." He chuckled.

She peered up at him shyly. "I was not stealing your roses. I had simply gone for a walk and gotten lost only to stumble upon a wonderful garden. I thought I had been dreaming, seeing so much beauty around me, and then you came charging down from your sitting room to demand what I was doing." She fell back in a dramatic display of shock. "And I must say that dream was shattered."

He blushed furiously. "I- Well, I didn't mean to reprimand you," His teasing tone returned. "And certainly not to frighten you, my dear." He took her wine glass and drank the rest of it. "I actually had only come with the intentions of asking who you were and why you were there."

"So you say…" She snatched it back in mock disappointment. "But I know you better than your stories." She rose from the couch and went to the balcony to open the doors, the sweet smell of very early spring filled the apartment to replace the stale smell of elven perfumes. The chill in the air prompted her to pull her cloak about her.

Her husband went to pull her away from the cold air of outside. Soon spring would be upon them, but at the moment winter still held. "Close those, I wouldn't want you to catch cold. We are not immortal beings, my love." She let his close the doors and swept her off of her feet. "Now," He said as he set her down on the first stair. She was now at his eye level. "As you may already know, the Love is in the Air festival is going on throughout Silvermoon. And I think it is about time we stop being such hermits and go and join the fun! However, while you look ever so lovely in your family colors, I think it'd be best if you go find something warmer to wear. Save your family's loveliness for a warmer occasion where I can thoroughly enjoy seeing you in it…"

She leapt with joy. "Oh yes! I have been looking forward to spending some out time with you, we never are social enough. Just let me go change." She hurried up the steps and returned to her mate in a dress of scarlet with a darker, crimson cloak over it, the hood it lined with white fur. He sighed, both in adoration and relief. He'd lost so much already, if he were to lose her… Especially to something so petty as a cold… "Let us go, love." They headed for the door, but he stopped at the armoire along the way to fetch his own cloak and their winter boots. They sat upon the stairs like children and laced up their boots before he held out his arm for her to take.

Winter was the only time Silvermoon ever looked truly silver. Little lines of ice and a thin sheet of snow decorated the city, obscuring its usual inner fires of red and gold and cream. Now it gleamed like a newborn sword, beautiful and deadly, ready for any hardship that the world could throw upon it. The Blood Elves represented their city well, now. They too, like their city transformed by winter, had been reforged into a powerful weapon of prowess, grace, and inner strength. Fragile in body, the elves may be at time, but not at all fragile in heart… And here at a time of love, the remaining people of Quel'Thalas gathered together. Magistrates, Lords, Ladies, and Commoners all came together, ready to weather the hardships of this life and the next.

And so on and so forth for eternity…


	3. The Worgen Lord

They had fallen, that much he knew, as they now lay on musty, swampy, spongy ground permeated with the scent of death. A pool of something warm now spread around him, and from the numbness of his body, he suspected it to be his blood. The metallic scent filled his nostrils and his suspicions were confirmed. Ever so quietly, he allowed himself to groan, but the noise sounded much louder than it was in his damaged ears.

So this was the fate of a Lord? To be shoved from one's stead in the middle of an attempt to rescue one's own? Such a dishonorable thing to be done, to sacrifice a life in order to save your own. Suddenly, his searching fingers met long hair, wet with what had to be blood. He grimaced, so it was two lives now, not only one. Had he the strength, he might have hunted down whoever stole his horse, but for now he could do nothing. Here he lay, blind and dying, stomped on by the very stallion that had been stolen from him. Such a pitiful death.

Movement came from beside him. The girl he had been trying to save now rose and shook his arm. He could not tell if he was smiling, but he tried to smile at her anyways. "Go, child. Flee this place and find life."

The little girl did not reply, but he imagined that she nodded. Then something embraced him. "Thank you," A small voice whispered hoarsely and then there was the sound of bare feet pattering across wet stone.

So he would not die in vain, at the very least. That did give him some comfort. He thoughts went back to the horse thief. What point was there in holding a grudge now? The act, so very wrong, would never be made right, so why bother in clinging to anger like a fool? Whoever the horse thief was, he hoped they had been able to make it out instead of wasting his chance.

Bitterly, he sighed, letting out his remaining shudder of breath in a fearful, rueful sigh. He would not deny that he feared death, no matter how many times he'd seen it or how close he'd come to it. Many times assassins had been made to bring him down under the orders of rivaling Lords and sorrowful family members. It was, in fact, said assassins who ended the lives of his bride and his brother. He had slain those men, and rightfully put them to their deaths. Flung them off the sea cliffs, he did, to a watery end. And in ending them he sent a message, do not mess with worgen.

But now it seemed he'd be joining all those lives he ended in the afterlife. He jumped at a sudden thought. Would he see his loved ones there? Would they be waiting for him to join them in the glory of the beyond? He smiled, or tried to, and remembered the many years in his youth he spent with his brother. Running in the forest and playing in the the fields near the sheep. Both of them had befriended a young shepherd named Bret who tended to the sheep in their favorite field. He'd actually gotten into a spat with the both of them, but it had somehow ended in the trio becoming friends. However, being a shepherd, and only a young one at that, Bret was one of the first people to disappear when the worgen invasion began. Some rumored that he'd been slaughtered along with his sheep, but others said that he'd been changed into one of the worgen and was running alongside the wolves.

In truth, he hadn't known what to believe entirely, but it wasn't long after Bret's disappearance that the worg-hunter Thorn had dragged in the corpse of a massive, white worgen whose lifeless eyes were the same unmistakable cerulean as Bret's and a long thin scar ran down it's shoulders, the same spot where Bret had a scar from being attacked by a fox when he was a child. Though no one said it, everyone then knew the fate of the young shepherd Bret.

They were both devastated at Bret's demise. Worgen or not, they both considered the boy their brother. They didn't hold it against Thorn, though. Thorn was a good man, and was only doing his job of protecting the villages from the wild half-wolves. The Lord now found it ironic that the worg-hunter had become the creature he hunted for years.

Almost everyone from the mountain villages where he'd grown up had been transformed from the curse, including himself and his brother. He had married a still human woman though, and she'd loved every bit of him. Even the beast he was within. Her name was Rose, and she'd been rescued by Thorn when she was just a child. Her family had been slaughtered by a pack of worgen and Thorn had taken her under his wing. He taught her to become a hunter and as time went on the pair were inseparable. Thorn had even announced that he was adopting Rose as his little sister.

He'd married a woman who hunted worgen. And he was worgen. Thorn's fury was unmatched the day he learned of her affection for a worgen Lord. Tame as the Lord might be, there was still a beast within and Thorn could see right through the human form he bore. He never tried to hide his beastial ways, hell he went about his normal life in his now-natural form, he even went to town that way much to the chagrin of most of the remaining human villagers. The dislike for his kind was strong, and he supposed he didn't help their view of him with what he did to Thorn…

He'd done the unthinkable, the forbidden, the worst thing one could do to one such as Thorn. He turned the hunter into the beast. It had started as a simple duel, so that he could prove his strength and win his bride. But after an exchange of nasty words and terrible insults tempers flew to sky high levels and after a burst of rage he'd nearly killed Thorn. But he wasn't done. As the alpha, he proved his status and bit Thorn, turning him into the thing he hated most.

After regaining his sanity Thorn had refused to speak to him until the day Rose died. The memories were, more painful that his broken bones. He'd done so much wrong in his life. At least he would go out with the satisfaction of being able to save that girl.

He heard echoing footsteps sound across the pavement he lay motionless upon. He knew what was to come. "What's this?" A voice rasped asked in amusement. "One mongrel still lives? Well, I'll have to change that." The forsaken unsheathed his blade with an audible swish. He took a couple steps forward, the worgen heard, and planted his blade into the Lord's back. He gave it a good twist and pulled it away. "For the Dark Lady…" The Lord heard the undead man murmur as he walked away.

So it was done, the time of his end had arrived. But it would appear that he'd been helped by the Forsaken in the end, he gave the Lord a quicker death, one less painful. Once more he sighed a long and ragged breath, thinking only of his wife and his brother who awaited him. And then his heart gave out.


End file.
